


wicked game

by Duckyboos



Series: Profound Meetings [10]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternative Universe - FBI, FBI Agent Castiel (Supernatural), First Dates, M/M, Online Dating, Serial Killers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-01
Updated: 2020-09-01
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:21:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26239267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Duckyboos/pseuds/Duckyboos
Summary: Dating is hard when you’re a forensic psychologist.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Series: Profound Meetings [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1820488
Comments: 109
Kudos: 271





	wicked game

**Author's Note:**

> In a total lack of imagination, I nicked the place name Woodsboro from the Scream movies.
> 
> Also, for those of you following Dial M for Monster, I might have to skip the update this week, 'cause I'm a bit behind atm. Hopefully, I'll get my shit together in time, but who knows (certainly not me!)

Dating is hard when you’re a forensic psychologist. 

Castiel’s Tinder profile states that he works in the NCAVC (it’s important to mention due to his unusual working patterns) and most people don’t bat an eye, uninterested in the nondescript acronym.

However, once they’re on a date and Castiel mentions that he’s with the BAU specifically, people’s eyes take on that weird, ‘ _oh wow, I know exactly what he does for a living_ ’ gleam and they start chattering about their favorite Criminal Minds episodes.

Castiel really hopes that Dean isn’t going to be one of those people. 

They’ve been talking online for a couple of weeks, just light-hearted banter, but Castiel already has a good feeling about him. He’s funny, thoughtful, and _good god_ is he attractive.

Dean - like Castiel - travels a lot; he’s actually a traveling auditor which Castiel doesn’t fully understand the ins and outs of, but he appreciates the wanderlust, the desire to not be tied down to one place. Too many people in Castiel’s life have failed to understand that his job involves a lot of last-minute rushing from city to city, so it’s been nice speaking to someone who lives a similar twenty-first-century nomadic life.

Castiel is excruciatingly early to their first in-person date; partially because he’s been conditioned to always be early, and partially so he can sit and watch patrons coming and going from his view at a corner table in the out-of-the-way Irish bar. He’s not a shallow person by any means, but he’s certainly wary of anyone who would use a picture of someone else to hide their true appearance. He’d be disappointed for more reasons than one if it turns out that Dean doesn’t look anything like his pictures.

Nursing a sweating bottle of craft beer as he waits, Castiel damn near flinches every time the door swings open, nervous anticipation curling in his gut.

A few minutes before their agreed meet-up time, in walks Dean, and Castiel’s heart just about stops. He’s far more attractive in person than his photos give him credit for - a feat Castiel hadn’t thought possible. He’s tall and broad-shouldered with light brown hair and goldspun lashes. His smile is wide and bright when he spots Castiel, and there are crinkles at the edges of his green eyes. And freckles! The pictures didn’t show the freckles.

“Hey, Cas,” Dean says, awed, as Castiel rises to meet him. He drags Castiel into a bone-crushing hug. He smells good; all rich leather and earthy warmth. 

Castiel drags himself together as they pull apart, “Hello, Dean. What would you like to drink?”

Dean waves him off with a strong, long-fingered hand, “Nah, I’ll get ‘em in.” He gestures to Cas’ near-empty bottle on the table, “Same again?”

“Please.” Castiel smiles.

“God,” Dean says, eyes not leaving Castiel’s, “You’re gorgeous.”

Warmth blooms in Castiel’s chest. “Thank you. You too.”

He has a feeling that this date is going to go well. 

***

They drink far too many beers together and Castiel feels his tongue (and morals) getting loose.

“So, tell me,” Dean says, lifting his beer so that his bottom lip brushes against the mouth of the bottle as he speaks. It’s practically pornographic and Castiel’s having trouble focusing on the rest of what Dean’s saying. “What does working in the NCAVC entail? Looking through lots of violent pictures?”

“Not quite,” Castiel hedges, watching Dean’s throat move as he drinks. He doesn’t want to ruin this by explaining his job and finding out that Dean’s just like everyone else, but he did ask, so Castiel is obliged to answer. “I’m a forensic psychologist working in the Behavioural Analysis Unit.”

There. He’s said it. Now he can find out whether Dean’s favorite character is Dr. Reid or Derek Morgan. Nobody ever says Rossi. 

“Oh?” Dean says, “So you’re all about the psychology of criminality?”

Castiel blinks, surprised. “Well, yes.”

“Cool.” Dean smiles crookedly. It’s strangely endearing. “I bet that takes you to some fucked up places in the human psyche.” He takes another pull of his drink.

Castiel laughs despite himself, picking at the label of his bottle. “It does, yes. I’m not permitted to talk about specific cases, but I have seen some rather crazy things.”

Dean deposits his beer on the table between them, adding to the dozen or so empty bottles already there, “Will you be working the Angelmaker case in Woodsboro?”

Dean’s clearly been following the news. It’s good to have a healthy interest in these things, Castiel finds. As long as it doesn’t veer into obsession. Only those with government-approved credentials are allowed to be obsessed with serial killers. “We haven’t officially been called in yet, but they’re three victims in with an identifiable pattern of behavior, I suspect it’s only a matter of time.”

Plump bottom lip pulled between straight white teeth, Dean looks up at him through his lashes, as though he’s weighing something up in his mind. “Do you wanna get outta here?”

Alcohol in his veins and dirty thoughts playing on a loop in his brain, Castiel doesn’t even hesitate. “Yes.”

  
  


***

As soon as they’re back at Castiel’s room, before the door is even closed, Dean’s crowding him up against the wall, hands in his hair, slanting their mouths together. Castiel moans into the kiss as Dean works his belt open, shoving his unbuckled pants down around his thighs. “Gonna fuck you,” Dean promises, nipping at Castiel’s kiss-swollen bottom lip with the sharp points of his teeth.

Castiel tilts his head back against the wall, giving Dean access to his neck as he works a hand into Castiel’s boxer-briefs, wrapping a hand around his hard length, and Castiel can’t help the rough-edged moan he lets out. “Please.”

He’s never been a talker during sex, but he can feel the words rising up now as Dean finally kicks the door shut and then gets them both fully naked on their lust-fueled stumble over to the bed. 

Castiel lands on his back, Dean plastered to his front, nothing between them but skin and heat. The feel of him pressed up against Castiel is enough to drive him crazy; all that casual strength and toned muscle.

He watches hungrily as Dean braces himself on his palms above Castiel, sleek and predatory, ducking his head to suck a bruise over Castiel’s collarbone. 

Castiel fists a hand in Dean’s hair, “I thought you were gonna fuck me?” He teases, stopping Dean dead on his kiss trail down Castiel’s abdomen. 

“Yeah. You definitely want that?”

Castiel nods wordlessly, and Dean moves back up his body to kiss him over and over, frantic, clinging kisses that have Castiel’s nerves fraying. 

“Bet you’re into some real kinky shit too, huh?” Dean pants against Castiel’s mouth, fingers gliding across Castiel’s throat, and something tightens in his stomach. “Yeah? You like that? Want me to wrap my hands around your throat as I fuck you?”

Castiel whines low in his throat, his dick impossibly hard against his stomach, precome pooling wet in his navel.

“God, I really lucked out with you,” Dean says as Castiel spreads wider, wanting Dean so badly, even as his face burns from the embarrassment of Dean figuring out one of his kinks this quickly. 

Kneeling on the bed between Castiel’s spread legs, Dean leans down to grab his pants up off the floor, coming back with a condom and a small packet of lube. “Wish I could take a picture of you like this, the pretty bruise necklace I’m gonna give you.”

Something prickles against the edge of Castiel’s consciousness, a restless observation that he can’t quite remember, but then Dean is pushing slick fingers inside him and Castiel’s brain promptly melts out of his ears.

***

He wakes up the next morning disappointingly alone. He has Dean’s number, of course, so there’s no way that they won’t be seeing each other again. Especially not after that performance. Castiel is loose-boned and sated and everything aches deliciously. Talking might be a problem for the next few hours, but it was certainly worth it.

Dean was everything he’d hoped for. And then some. 

On the nightstand, next to a glass of water, is a folded piece of paper. He sits up on the edge of the bed, wincing a little with the movement, and unfolds the note.

_‘Cas,_

_Left my camera in the car, so this will have to do.’_

Underneath, there’s a crude drawing of Castiel in repose with splotches of bruising around his neck. 

His heart hammers against his ribcage. This is what his lust-addled brain was trying to piece together last night. The Angelmaker takes multiple polaroids of his strangled victims and leaves them at the scene. It’s something left out of the news reports thus far, so only people with either access to the files - or the killer themselves - would know. Certainly not an _auditor_.

Blood pounding loud in his ears, Castiel reads the final line of Dean’s note.

_‘See you in Woodsboro ;)’_


End file.
